


A Reason

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [2]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Act I, BAMF!Fenris, BAMF!Hawke, Concessions, M/M, Pre-Slash, Trust Issues, still getting to know each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8035321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: Azzan tries to bridge the gap between himself and Fenris.





	A Reason

At first, Azzan had wondered if he hadn’t turned to Fenris out of pity. After all, here was a man who had been hunted for years simply for wanting freedom. In a far more abstract way, he could even understand where Fenris was coming from. As a mage in Southern Thedas, he’d lived his entire life viscerally aware of how any misstep could have the templars knocking on his door; that, if they did, his sister would be taken, as well. Talk about every reason to run and hide.

Of course, what Fenris suffered was far worse. Slavers hounded his every step. And of course Azzan had wanted to help him. He’d sworn himself to Fenris’ cause the instant he’d heard the man’s plight. How could he do any less?

And after they’d cleared the mansion out and turned up no one, the man had surprised him all over again. Not only noting his magic, but noting that, despite his being a mage like those who had turned his existence into torture, the man had stopped himself and said, “You are not Danarius. Whether you are anything like him remains to be seen.” For some reason, Azzan’s heart had flipped.

So strong, he’d thought, and had thrown away his theory of pity then and there. It wasn’t pity. It was something more akin to awe.

Not, of course, that it helped them in any way. He was still a mage, and Fenris still remembered mages quite well. Like the time he’d tried to give Fenris one of the Gallows Slave Finger Cuffs he’d found and the elf had jumped his shit. To get Fenris to stop, he’d finally had to put the ring on his own finger and shout, “this is just a weapon against your enemies! A promise to remain free!”

Anything, it seemed, could set the man off. He’d had to tread so very carefully when they’d first made their way to the Gallows; Fenris had basically said it was best to lock all mages away in such a place. Hawke had needed to hide the violent shudder at the very thought and respond as if dodging a field beset with explosive traps.

Yet when they weren’t speaking of mages, Azzan found himself drawn like the tide to the moon’s pull. Their first true conversation, after Fenris had set himself up in Danarius’ old mansion as if in spite, had delved straight into their choices to remain in Kirkwall. Fenris wasn’t careful with words the way Azzan was; what he thought, he said. It was beautiful, and amazing, to know a man who had been taught silence had chosen to speak. Even when he cut – even when he accused Azzan of not caring about his sister, of her no longer mattering to him – it was still incredible. Especially when Fenris immediately backtracked and told him his reasons were his own.

He remembered, very vividly, the way Fenris’ gaze had locked on him when he’d spoken of waiting to confront his former master. “I do not expect your help when that day comes, but I would not turn it aside.”

It had been on the tip of his tongue to swear it, to give the man his word, to stand by his side. The suddenness of it, along with the concern of how his willingness would be perceived, was all that stopped him. And then the moment had passed.

What he never told Fenris, or anyone, was that he used Chain Lightning for the very first time while traveling through that very house. He’d been noticing it during the year he worked as a mercenary with his brother, then even more often as he searched for the money to fund the expedition. Over and over again, he found his allies, his friends, in danger, and found in him only the chance to protect them. To heal, to paralyze their enemies, to bolster his friends’ attacks. He could heal their bodies during the battle, but he could do nothing to stave off enemy attacks. It had been a rule, a law, when working for Meeran. Though the merc and his brother had argued against him every step of the way, he’d refused to become a proficient killer. His first kill had been Friedrich, the man Meeran had wanted them to kill. His brother had loved Meeran, the mercenaries, the battle. He had not. Never before had he fought another man, raised as a farmboy at the edge of a small town. And after watching the light fade from that man’s eyes, he’d chosen to heal instead of harm.

But seeing his friends getting hurt and being unable to do anything had been worse. When he’d chosen to instigate a battle with a group of slavers, it had hit him that he couldn’t expect to go in as anything other than a killer. He had to be prepared to murder to ensure this one elf’s freedom. And so he did; he used the power he felt swirling within him, the same he used to shove enemies away when they came for him, to focus into a single, powerful shot. He’d called upon the natural arts, and had felt the crackle of light in his palm. And he’d taken down a shade that had been poised to strike the man he’d promised to protect.

He doubted Fenris would appreciate what he’d done. What he’d chosen to become, for his sake.

Perhaps, he thought on his darkest days, Fenris was right to fear mages.

Now, almost a week since he’d first met the man, he sat on his cot in the small room in the back of his uncle’s home and ducked his head into his hands. He’d just returned from the Wounded Coast, from fighting off bandits and beasts, trying to find lost treasures, old supply stores of plants or stones. Busy work, meant to stave off the worst of his concerns, his mind tripping over itself in its haste to find an answer to what he was doing. What he was becoming. Only to be caught up in another sort of mental anguish.

Fenris did not like or trust him. The man had actually demanded Azzan not heal him. He’d never felt so trapped. So horrified. So – he couldn’t believe he’d turned his anger straight onto himself, either. And Aveline had been ready to crush Fenris’ face beneath her shield. She had, perhaps, reacted more rationally than he. All he’d been able to think was that he could no longer fight with Fenris, or even choose to help him. There would be nothing he could do to protect a man who would refuse his protection. And though Fenris had reneged, enough for them to continue clearing out the coast, a blind man would have been able to read the tension lining the elf’s body.

He looked down at his hands. It had been a hard road, both accepting and hiding who he was. He lived on a constant precipice between shame and surety, cowardice and confidence. Fenris, on the other hand, had chosen the hardest route. An honest one. One where he no longer hid, no matter what. Azzan took a deep breath and looked up. If Fenris had felt no desire to be near him, the man would have said so. He hadn’t. He’d taken back his previous words. It was something. A start, maybe. One to an unknown time in the future, in which he and the headstrong man might just become something like friends.

* * *

 

At first, Azzan only brought Fenris with him when he and the others traveled somewhere they expected potential resistance in, but he kept the man away when they went to deal with something specific. Many of his monetary opportunities had something to do with magic, and he learned quickly that even the most pragmatic form of sympathy still earned him the elven man’s wrath. Instead, he took Fenris with him on trips that had practically no chance of magic even being mentioned. Which meant he brought Fenris with him to the Bone Pit.

They’d expected trouble. Varric, with him once more, noted that trouble was naturally attracted to him. He had to agree; something about him and Kirkwall seemed to fundamentally clash. As quiet and simple as his life in Lothering had been, that was how tumultuous his life in Kirkwall was. Perhaps it had to do with how they’d gained entrance to the city, or perhaps it was just a trial. Something he needed to deal with to come into himself, to become what he needed to be to survive with the Circle so near. He wanted to believe the Maker had a purpose for all this.

For Fenris, however, he wasn’t certain the reason wasn’t because he was supposed to be locked away. He didn’t know if Fenris would have given him away if it weren’t for the man’s own situation. The knowledge sat heavily upon him.

Their search through the Pit grew more treacherous the further inside the mines they went, until finally they came upon a survivor. The man barely managed to state his case before hurrying past them to the exit, his retreat nearly sending Anders sprawling.

“Dragons,” Varric said, sighing deeply as he adjusted his hold on Bianca. “They found dragons.”

“I was waiting for darkspawn,” Anders said, his voice wry as he dusted himself off. “This is a step up, actually.”

“Your optimism is encouraging, mage,” Fenris said.

Hawke grinned at the sound. Perhaps Fenris would fit in just fine. Their band of misfits. “I prefer dragons to darkspawn, myself,” he added in. Anders made a noise of triumph.

“Sucks for you, Hawke,” Varric said, “considering the expedition takes place in the Deep Roads.”

Hawke kept his grin, refusing to think about Bethany. “I’ll deal with it.”

“Under duress,” Anders muttered. From the sounds of it, he really, really disliked the idea of heading into the Deep Roads. Perhaps Azzan shouldn’t think to bring him with them when they went underground? But Anders was the only one in their group with experience. It was something he would have to discuss with the man.

A chittering roar sounded ahead of them, and Azzan pulled out his staff. Fenris ran ahead, shouting out to grab the attention of the creatures. Azzan carefully followed after, already calling a seal to freeze the creatures in place before their sharp teeth could snap down on Fenris’ glowing arms. Anders and Varric both took the opportunity to attack the dragonlings the moment Azzan had them stuck in place. More came seemingly out of the rocks themselves, crawling over the rubble of the tunnels the miners had unwittingly opened. Fenris was incredible; something Azzan had noticed in previous battles; he was an amazing mix of reckless and observant, over-eager and careful. When it seemed Fenris noticed only the enemies around him, the man called taunts and attacked any who got to close to Azzan or Anders. For all that the man hated mages, he was amazing at defending them.

Practice, Azzan knew, and grimaced at the knowledge. But despite it all, Fenris was perhaps better at protecting him than Aveline. He was… more animated on the battlefield.

Despite the numbers, they quickly worked through the enemies. “Everyone all right?” Azzan asked, already checking with his magic. Fenris was slightly injured, but nothing major. He moved closer to the man, letting the aura of his own energized magic heal and enervate him. Anders turned to Varric and took care of a scratch on his leg from one of the dragonling’s claws.

Fenris looked him up and down, his brows furrowed slightly as if concerned over Azzan’s own health, before he turned away. “We should move on,” he said, and led the way toward the exit of the mines, back where the terrified miner had pointed. A dragon waited beyond. Azzan held his breath as he moved forward.

The creature was tall, taller than them all, wide enough for Hawke to fit fully in the creature’s stomach. He tried to seal it, only for it to break free. It was too large. He gritted his teeth and stayed by Fenris’ side. Anders helped him heal as the battle wore on, the both of them trading off. Azzan focused on Fenris, knowing the elf could hardly stand Anders’ presence and vice versa. But though Varric shot at the creature’s leathery hide, despite how hard Fenris swung, the dragon just got angrier and angrier. He watched, unable to reach Fenris’ side in time, as Fenris caught the creature’s fire full in the face. “Anders! Heal Fenris!” he shouted, and rushed forward.

He was not a warrior. Anders himself had more destruction magic in him, and he, too, was a healer. Still, Hawke dropped his healing aura and called lightning to his staff. It felt alien, still, despite having learned of the magic weeks ago. He used it so rarely. But now, he let it spark over him, through him. When it finally pooled deep inside him, he yanked it all forward, balling the energy into a single, dense ball. It snaked out, created a cloud, sizzling the very air, even as Fenris found his feet beneath him once more. Azzan could already see Anders’ magic wrapping around the man despite Fenris’ angry grimace. Varric backed away as the dragon unfurled its wings and flew up. It landed straight back down, making the world buck beneath Azzan’s feet.

Fenris jumped out in front of him again with a yell. The dragon turned its teeth and claws on him once more.

Anders could heal them, but he could already sense the bruises and cuts lining Fenris’ body, tiny wounds that could pile up very suddenly. And this dragon, so much larger – probably the dragonlings’ mother, likely doing little more than trying to raise her young, attacking because they destroyed her nest – was hardly hurt from their efforts. He gritted his teeth. “I’m sorry,” he said, and pulled down on the lightning he could still feel crackling in the air around him.

He didn’t have enough practice with this. With using his magic to hurt instead of heal. It was a conscious decision; ever since his father had begun teaching him how to control his magic, he’d found himself flinching away from causing pain. He knew he was powerful. That was all the more reason for him to be careful with his abilities. And when he’d seen just how easy it was to end a life, he’d turned from that sort of magic entirely. Yet now he pulled it forward, gathered the storm up, swirling the clouds into a single, thrumming circle. The electricity sang through the sky. Unlike the small bolts he would normally discharge, the power growing within him, surging into the sky, wanted to burst out.

The dragon flew away from Fenris and rumbled back to the earth beside Anders and Varric. Fenris snarled and raced after it. With a deep grunt of effort, Azzan threw the magic out, shunting it, wrapping the flashing circle of it over the beast. The lightning snapped and popped, and above all their heads, flashed down to the dragon. The bold struck the beast, and it screamed. It ducked down from the touch of magic, leaving its head in easy battering distance from Fenris’ sword. With a quick slice, Fenris gave the dragon a deep gash on its neck. It reared up, only to be struck by lightning once more. Fenris’ next hit did not miss.

Azzan lowered his arms, his body sparking and trembling with the remnants of his attack. Magic pulsed in his blood like honey. He shivered as the corpse of the beast fell to the ground. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again, very quietly. The creature had only wanted to live.

He took a deep breath. “Everyone all right?” he asked again. Anders stood by Varric, and so Azzan turned once more to Fenris, healing the man’s wounds. Fenris’ gaze, however, when it met his, was dark. “You had not used that spell before,” the elf said.

Azzan’s lips twisted. “No.” He needn’t say it; he was certain Fenris knew. He had made the spell up on the spot. The elf’s lip curled as he turned away.

Azzan closed his eyes for a moment. He wanted to be angry; he had saved their lives with that show of magic. But he understood. Someone who could create such a spell in the middle of battle, with no true training in how to perform it – it was dangerous. To those without magic, it must be scary. How could he show this man that he would rather hit himself than someone innocent? Perhaps it was impossible. Perhaps, instead of looking for friendship between them, he should just be by the man’s side, ready to defend him if needed. No matter how terribly strongFenrise was, he was as invulnerable as Hawke himself.

They made their way back through the Bone Pit, Hawke’s mind circling around itself, his heart unnecessarily heavy.

* * *

He stepped into Fenris’ mansion and tried not to wrinkle his nose. It stunk. He could still see the remnants of blood on the walls, even though he’d helped Fenris clean the place of bodies the day after Fenris had claimed the mansion his own. If Fenris wasn’t going to clean it up, he would simply have to.

He made his way through the lobby, then the foyer. If he knew Fenris, the man would be resting in the main bedroom, as he usually was. Unsurprisingly, he was; Fenris sat in his usual chair by the table, his armor still on, as always. But though the elf seemed more or less at ease before the fireplace, his gaze was careful as Hawke drew near. The mage wanted to think it was because he hadn’t told Fenris he’d planned to stop by. He doubted that was actually the case.

“Fenris,” he said neutrally, keeping any emotion from his voice. They’d gone to the Bone Pit only two days prior, and he hadn’t asked the man to go with him again. He didn’t know where he stood with Fenris, and he couldn’t let that stand. He needed to speak with him about his magic. It would not be a pleasant conversation.

“Hawke,” Fenris returned, his deep voice nearly guttural. Hawke took a steadying breath. The last time he’d come to speak with Fenris, he’d found the man drinking a fancy wine, only to throw it against the wall. They’d spoken of homes, and of plans, vague as they were for them both. Hawke had felt off-balance during the entire discussion, never knowing what simple statement could anger the man before him. He’d been left with nothing but the raw truth. He still didn’t quite know how it had gone over with Fenris.

“May I?” Hawke asked, indicating the seat opposite Fenris. The man looked like he’d perhaps been brooding into the fire beside him before Hawke had come along. He looked almost as if he’d be more willing to do that than entertain Hawke for an extended visit. Still, Fenris gestured to the seat in acceptance, and Hawke complied. They stared at one another for a moment. All of Hawke’s diplomacy failed him in the moment. He remembered his own decision, to be more like Fenris, more honest, and leaned forward. “Fenris. I know we spoke on – on my magic.” He noted the way Fenris stilled, the narrowing of those bright green eyes. He continued. “But though you said it wouldn’t be a problem, a blind man could see it still is.”

“Get to the point, Hawke,” Fenris said, his teeth gritted.

No denial, then; Fenris truly was a very honest person. Hawke had a hard time remembering how to breathe. He clenched his fingers into the arms of the chair and just said it. “I am willing to help you in any way I can, if you will allow it.” He hadn’t told Fenris that when the man had said he would accept Hawke’s help if needed. He should have. He wanted to help him, and that was reason enough to do so, wasn’t it?

Fenris looked surprised by his admission. Azzan would consider that a win. It was better than suspicion or disbelief.

“That offer will always stand, no matter what decision you make regarding me. But I don’t want you – you shouldn’t stand with me if you don’t wish it. You are under no obligation to me, any more than I am to you. If that is why you accompany me, it would be best if we stopped.” He couldn’t find the right words to explain why. Despite having just asked to sit, he stood. He was not one to pace, but the desire suddenly roared within him. He linked his hands behind his back and stood straight, refusing to fidget. “Whatever you choose, just know that I will stand with you whenever you need.”

He turned to leave. He’d had this big, elaborate explanation in his head, but somehow it had faltered on his tongue. He didn’t even know exactly why he wanted to help this man so much. Yes, he admired him and his strength. Yes, he couldn’t help but be drawn to Fenris’ will. But what else was there? What made him want to keep trying?

“Hawke.”

Azzan’s breath left him. That. Perhaps that was it. Because, in that one, short instant, Fenris’ voice cracked. Something vulnerable slid through. Something that said he needed help. Azzan could never turn from such a sound. “Yes?” And he looked back.

Fenris leaned forward in his seat. For all that his voice had wobbled, his face and body were like steel. His armored hands clasped together in front of him. “I do not… dislike you. I apologize. When we fight, I remember – other times.” Azzan had already deduced that. It was partly why he didn’t want Fenris battling beside him if he did not wish it. “I recognize that you are not like those I’ve fought with before.”

His heart tripped over itself. This was new. “You do?”

Fenris lifted his chin. “You have immense power,” he said, his voice dark. “But you rarely use it to harm. Instead you choose to heal those of us on the field. At every turn you help those around you. I don’t know that you’re free of temptation, but so far, you have chosen not to succumb. That has not gone unnoticed.”

From someone carrying around so many demons when it came to mages, it was high praise. Something light burst inside of him. Perhaps there was hope for them. He grinned. “Thank you.” Since Fenris hadn’t actually said anything on the subject of traveling with him, however, he had nothing else he could say. He turned again. This time, Fenris didn’t stop him.

* * *

By the time he’d gotten enough money for the expedition, Fenris still hadn’t expressed interest in rejoining his party. When Hawke went to the Deep Roads, he left Fenris behind, merely asking Aveline to keep an eye out for him in Hawke’s stead.


End file.
